


The Seed of Life

by DictionaryWrites



Series: Spitting Out Seeds [3]
Category: Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Bondage, Dirty Talk, Humor, Intersex Loki (Marvel), Lactation Kink, M/M, Magic, Nipple Play, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Sexual Fantasy, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 10:29:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14353629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: The Grandmaster is trying to teach Loki the crucial elements of his craft: try as he might, Loki learns slowly.





	The Seed of Life

In the scheme of the universe, sex is nothing at all. It can be meaningless, thrown between people like so much bad rubbish, done for the sake of doing _something_ ; it can mean everything, between two desperate people who want nothing more than to hold on to one another until the end of time, until their bones turn to dust and all the suns go dark. Desperate; leisurely. Feral; tender. A show of joy; of grief; of deepest rage.

And sex with immortals is always different.

In most of the higher species with a sexual response, the act of sexual coupling lights up all manner of pleasure centres in the brain – of course, it satisfies the need of many species for touch and intimate connection, but the act itself is more than that. Pheromones fill the olfactory senses, or are even picked up by the tongue; the brain releases endorphins in response to touch and physical exercise alike, and the body primes itself for reproduction.

Loki lets out a low groan, tipping his head back into the grass, and the Grandmaster chuckles softly, his laugh easing its way onto the eastern wind like pollen, and Loki can almost imagine the way the sound shall travel on the air. The dawn is breaking, the sky above their heads like a blanket that has been ripped at its seams, its fabric interrupted by the stuffing within, now made into fluffy clouds that move lazily across the atmosphere. The very air is thick with pressure, and soon, the first rains will begin on Sakaar, beginning a not-quite-natural cycle of weather across the planet’s new continents.

The Grandmaster shifts the angle of his hand, thrusting forward with his three fingers slightly crooked, calculated to rub against the spongey, blood-swollen flesh on the roof of Loki’s entrance, and Loki is helpless to move – genuinely, _helpless_. His wrists, which are neatly stacked left over right, have been bound by quick-growing vine that had burst from the ground below, tying itself once, twice, three times about Loki’s lower arms, all the better to keep him still and unable to fidget away from the Grandmaster’s ministrations.

Loki’s pale skin all but glows in the dawn sun, his abdominal and pectoral muscles showing little shadows where the pronounced flesh is hit upon by the warm light, and if Loki looks at his thighs, spread as wide as they are able, he can see the muscles tense beneath the alabaster skin. _(“How far can you spread these?” the Grandmaster had asked once Loki was bound in place, and he had pushed upon Loki’s knees, pushing Loki’s legs closer and closer to his shoulders, until his knees were touched against his collarbones, and Loki was smiling. “Gee,” the Grandmaster had said, spreading Loki’s legs out from his body, and then making more vines flick out from the soil beneath them, coiling about Loki’s knees and keeping him bound in place. “You’re pretty, huh. You’re pretty flexible.”)_ Loki shifts slightly, tilting his hips up and into the press of the Grandmaster’s hand, and he is rewarded with the _warmest_ smile.

Cock hard and wet at the head, resting on his belly and with _nothing_ to grind against, Loki is forced to rely only on the weight and slight stretch of the Grandmaster’s fingers within him, the heated press of them between his sopping folds, the slightest burn in the muscles as the Grandmaster scissors the three fingers as wide as they can go; Loki’s entrance is dripping with slickness, and he can feel his juices seeping over his thighs and down further, until the wetness is soaking around the crevice between his buttocks.

How long have they been here, just like this, the Grandmaster’s fingers moving regularly ( _but so slowly_!) inside him, a hand steadying his left thigh to keep him from gathering too much momentum with a thrust of his hips? Hours. _Hours!_ Since before the sun began to rise, at least, since it was still pitch dark with a scattering of foreign constellations on the sky, since the dew was wet on the grass and Loki complained as he was laid down upon it.

Sex is different with immortals. Time becomes immaterial, so long as the body is hardy enough and the lubricant plentiful: there is no rush to the end when there is no end in sight, or even in imaginings.

“Aren’t you meant to be teaching me something?” Loki asks, his slick tongue dancing over his lower lip and his tone lazy, and the Grandmaster’s lips quirk into a smile.

“Mmm-hmm,” he hums his agreement, with a nod of his head. “I’m waiting for you to learn it.”

“How can I learn my lesson if I don’t know what it is?”

“How can I, mm, teach you a lesson if all I do is tell you the answers?” Loki laughs, and when the Grandmaster twists his fingers on the next thrust, brushing over parts of him that make his nerves _sing_ , the laughter melts easily into a moan. What is Loki meant to be doing, he wonders? Breaking free? Throwing his mentor to the ground and having his way with him? Bringing himself to the zenith of pleasure on this _bare_ stimulation at all?

“Give me a clue,” Loki murmurs, and the Grandmaster’s hand stops entirely: he draws it back, putting his three slicked fingers into his mouth and _sucking_ on them, audibly, his tongue laving around them, his lips tight about the base of his fingers. Loki feels, all at once, his cock give a healthy jerk, feels himself clench around nothing at all, and he grits his teeth. “That’s not a _clue_. That’s torture! Come here.” The Grandmaster comes closer, leaning over Loki, his hands in the grass on either side of Loki’s hips, and Loki sighs. “What? Now I’m giving the orders?”

“You’re getting warmer,” the Grandmaster murmurs. Loki looks from his golden eyes to his soft lips, to the stripe of blue he insists on paining from his lip down to his chin, and Loki presses his own lips together, looking at the Grandmaster searchingly: finally, the other man relents. For a being with billions of years’ worth of experience beneath his belt, he doesn’t seem to have much patience to hand. “Loki, if you want my help with something, you’ve got to ask. I can’t read your mind.”

“Yes, you can,” Loki argues, immediately. “I refuse to believe that you _can’t_ read my mind.” The Grandmaster frowns, looking rather caught out: he opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again.

“Well— Yeah, I _can_ , but it’s nice when you ask me. And besides, you don’t want me listening to your, uh, your thoughts all the time, do you?” the Grandmaster murmurs, and Loki shifts, feeling the bite of the grass against his bare shoulders and his backside, feeling his legs begin to burn at having been in this position for so long.

“Very well,” Loki murmurs, quietly. “Then _please_ , Grandmaster, if I might ask your help with something… Reduce me to a shaking wreck who knows not even his own name.” The Grandmaster’s eyes become slightly wider, his gaze the slightest bit more intense: a beat passes between them.

And then the Grandmaster is upon him, his mouth on Loki’s, biting at his lips and battling with his tongue, his hands roaming over Loki’s chest. As they have been speaking, the sun has risen higher in the sky, and the sky is now a beautiful shade of burnished blue, bright and ready with the new morning: the Grandmaster drags his mouth down from Loki’s mouth, coming lower.

With one of the Grandmaster’s thighs pressed _hard_ against Loki’s cunt, giving Loki something _gloriously_ present to grind his length up and against, Loki is soon gasping out desperate little sounds. The Grandmaster’s mouth, hot as a volcanic spray and full to the brim with sharp teeth, drags down the centre of Loki’s chest, tracing the lines of Loki’s first sternum with his tongue. “Nice ribs you got here… How many?”

“Fourteen,” Loki whispers, and he arches as the Grandmaster’s fingers dig into the bones of his hips, making him arch.

“Two sternums, huh? Double rib cage?”

“A quirk of my species,” Loki says breathlessly, and the Grandmaster chuckles, lurching to the left and wrapping his mouth around Loki’s left nipple, digging his teeth into the sensitive skin, and Loki gasps, tugging desperately at the bonds above his head. If he could, oh, if he only could move his hands they would be fisted in the Grandmaster’s hair, digging into his shoulders, forcing him closer to Loki’s body, holding him so tightly—

The Grandmaster knows what he is doing with his tongue. He traces invisible letters on the peak of Loki’s nipple, coaxing it to hardness, and then he draws back, blowing hot air over the sensitive skin and sending the most delicious tingles across Loki’s flesh, setting his nerve endings aflame. “You ever, uh, you know… Blow these babies up?”

Loki cannot help the face of mild disgust that passes across his face as the Grandmaster cups his pectorals, his thumbs playing over each of his nipples, the nail digging _just_ a little hard over their pinkness. “Is that your way of asking me if I’ve had breasts before?”

“ _No_ , I’m not some kind of pervert,” the Grandmaster murmurs, dragging his tongue in a line over the right nipple and then pinching it between his teeth, leaving Loki writhing under his attentions. “I meant have you ever, uh, _lactated_?”

“Oh,” Loki says, doing his best to thrust his hips against the other man’s. “That’s not perverted at all, in comparison.” He looks at the Grandmaster’s face, and he cannot help the way his heart leaps in his chest at the look in the other man’s eyes – the concept of a shapeshifter beneath one’s hands is an arousing thought for many of those Loki has slept with in his time, but the Grandmaster seems to consider even Loki’s base form, with no changes at all, to be a _delight_ in every way. The Grandmaster grabs at each of Loki’s nipples with his thumb and forefinger, rolling them both between the digits and even _pulling_ slightly, making Loki keen, and Loki says, “I’ve not— Not for sex.”

“We should try it some time,” the Grandmaster whispers, cupping Loki’s pectorals once again and drawing his thumb over their flesh. “But not with magic! We’ll do it the fun way. Bit by bit, me licking these babies, massaging them, until they get the message all on their own…” The noise Loki lets out is garbled: the very thought of undergoing such attention for weeks on end makes him shake – as the planet is coming into form around them, so too shall Loki, with his breasts growing, _heaving_ and heavy with milk, and all for the Grandmaster—

Loki feels his cock give another lurch, and he growls out, “Would you _please_ just—” The Grandmaster’s hand is wrapped around his cock before he can finish the sentence, and all at once, Loki is coming, his eyes clenching tightly shut as he thrusts into the Grandmaster’s clever hands, gasps as the other man squeezes him through his orgasm, and then Loki’s head drops back upon the grass, his breathing heavy, his heart pounding audibly in his ears.

His body is wrought with small twitches and aftershocks, and as Loki slowly recovers, he feels the tender way the Grandmaster undoes the bindings about his knees and wrists, leaving Loki free upon the grass. Loki experimentally shifts his limbs, feeling the achy twinge of abused muscles, and he reaches up, grasping at the Grandmaster’s collar and pulling him down, _closer_.

Loki’s mouth is soft against the Grandmaster’s, their lips brushing over one another’s – Loki’s lips are sensitive, much more sensitive than he likes to let on, at times, but there’s something about having the Grandmaster kiss him like this that makes Loki thrum inside. He keeps hold of the Grandmaster, keeping him close.

“The planet… You haven’t told me yet why you’re changing it. What you’re making it into,” Loki murmurs.

“You haven’t asked,” the Grandmaster points out. His right hand rests against Loki’s bare chest, the palm radiating a wonderful warmth that Loki feels he could melt under. “Are you asking now?”

“No,” Loki decides. “Sit up.” The Grandmaster sits back on the grass, and Loki stands, drawing upon his magic to conjure fabric from the very air, setting it about his shoulders and about his hips until he is wearing robes not dissimilar to the one the Grandmaster enjoys himself. Loki draws the line at _sandals_ , however, and clads himself in leather boots, as he has always preferred. His eye is drawn to the awful stain upon the Grandmaster’s front, where Loki’s juices, his come, have both soaked into the fabric and left it dark in places.

“I know,” the Grandmaster murmurs, looking down at it and laughing. “I should wear an apron.” Loki clucks his tongue, and he weaves his own magic into the fabric, cleaning the stains away before dropping down into the older man’s lap – and to his surprise, the Grandmaster lets him, setting one hand on Loki’s hip to steady him and setting his chin upon Loki’s shoulder. There is something distinctly vulnerable about this position, unable as Loki is to look back at the other’s face, but it matters not.

“I want you to teach me how to make the seed grow,” he says.

“Ah,” the Grandmaster murmurs against the shell of Loki’s ear, and as his left hand pulls Loki a little further into his lap, his right hand reaches out, palm up toward the blue, blue sky. There is a single Grappa seed within it, and Loki takes the seed, setting it upon the grass. “Tell me how to perform magic. In the most, ah, basic way – tell me as if I’m an idiot.”

“Magic is already upon the air, imbued in the very stone, the ground, the light from the sun, even,” Loki says quietly. At some moment, a shift has occurred between them: they have turned from lovers to teacher and student, and Loki might almost believe his position in the other man’s lap was merely the best one to learn in, were he to justify this scenario to a future or past self. “In order to do magic, one must draw upon it: it is taken into the body, shaped with thought, and then cast out. One must have an _exact_ understanding of what one is asking to make something – to conjure a square of calico fabric, even, one must know how the fibre itself comes together, and how the fibres are interwoven, and think of these as we bring it into being.”

“Very _good_ ,” the Grandmaster says, chuckling softly. “Then tell me – what do you do when you grow the Grappa seed?”

“I think of the tree: I think of its growth at each stage, the way the leaves widen, the way the stem increases in size… It draws in light from the sun and carbon dioxide from the air, using these things to aid it in growth, and requires water too – as it gets larger, the green shoot will begin to form a bark, and it will flower and—”

“You’re getting too far ahead,” the Grandmaster murmurs in his ear, and oh, even if Loki _can’t_ see his face, there’s something about this position that delights him on the basest level. He oughtn’t be here, by the _Norns_ , he ought have fled in those very first days, but he had not, and he will not! What is this power the Grandmaster has, so all-encompassing, so charismatic, even to a man like Loki? “You’re missing something important, pretty boy.”

“The cells of the plant—”

“No,” the Grandmaster interrupts him, and in his right hand blooms a soft sapling. “ _Think_ about it – put aside all that science for a second. What is a plant, in the most basic sense?” Loki stares down at the sapling as it grows leaves, a beautiful flower…

“They’re on most planets… They usually serve to recycle oxygen in the air, somehow, uh—”

“ _Still_ very scientific. Stars, what did that Asgard place do to you?” The Grandmaster shakes his head, his chin rubbing against Loki’s shoulder, and then he asks, “What’s the difference between this plant and, say, a machine? They’ve got the same amount of moving parts, right?”

“No,” Loki murmurs. “The plant is organic: its growth is inherently random, in a way, whereas a device has to planned in advance…” There’s a long pause between them, and then Loki feels the Grandmaster’s face press against his back.

“Gee, Loki. You’re _really_ smart, but, uh, has anyone ever told you you’re kinda dumb? You can’t see the wood for the trees here, buddy. You even said the _word_ …”

“Growth?”

“No.”

“Planning?”

“No.”

Loki searches his memory, trying to think what else he’d said, and then, “Organic?”

“ _Yes_ , organic, there ya go. What does that mean?”

“It’s organic, it’s alive.” Loki frowns, staring at the seed amidst the grass as the Grandmaster banishes the plant in his own palm into the ether.

“See, magic can be made into almost anything,” the Grandmaster says. “It’s energy in its purest, most basic form: the original energy, if you like. And _life_ is just another form of energy, but you need that, ah, _spark_ , to kick something into action. You understand?”

“Vaguely,” Loki mumbles, staring at the Grappa seed with growing despair. “But this seed… Isn’t it alive already? Or, potentially alive?”

“Mmm, debatably _yes_ , to both of those points.”

“So I don’t _need_ to conjure life, if it’s energy already there—” The silence from the Grandmaster is palpable, and Loki sets his jaw. “What am I forgetting now?”

“You’re not forgetting anything,” the Grandmaster replies easily, tapping Loki’s hip. His tone is thick with indulgence, and Loki does his best not to get distracted by it. “You’re learning, honey.”

“What did I tell you about calling me honey?” Loki cannot help the way the words come out, like some dark intonation, but the Grandmaster does not seem to mind Loki’s failing mood, and merely holds him that _bit_ tighter.

“I don’t know: I forget,” the Grandmaster replies, his tone sugar-sweet. “Let’s change tact. You ever been married?” The question strikes Loki hard, piercing through him like the biting teeth of some icy wind, and perhaps the way he tenses up tells the Grandmaster precisely what the problem is, or perhaps it’s the telepathy the Grandmaster refuses to admit to – either way, he hesitates before saying, “Okay, okay, not married. Imagine you’re in a forest. Eyes closed, eyes closed!”

Loki closes his eyes, seeing darkness instead of the expanse of green grass and that awful Grappa seed, mocking him from its place before him. “Okay,” the Grandmaster says, his voice low and almost sing-sing as he continues, “I need you to imagine this, right? Sights, scents, tastes, sensations… You’re in the middle of a forest. There are two trees in front of you: an oak, and a maple. You know those two, right?”

“Yes,” Loki mutters.

“What’s the difference between them?”

“Firstly, leaf shape—”

“ _No_ ,” the Grandmaster stops him before Loki can continue his meticulous analysis and explanation. “Imagine you can’t see the trees, or smell them, or touch them.”

“But you just said—”

“To imagine the _forest_ , yeah, but not those specific trees.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Mm, you’re in my lap and I’m not using the opportunity to drive you wild: there’s a lot that’s ridiculous about this situation. Now, listen to Daddy and let him teach you.” _Oh_. That is… Something. Loki feel himself shudder in the older man’s lap, doing his best not to think too much on precisely what _Daddy_ is using that particular moniker for. “If you can’t do any of that to the trees, how do you tell the difference between them?”

“You didn’t rule out taste,” Loki says mildly. “I could lick the bark.” The Grandmaster smacks the side of his thigh, and Loki laughs, keeping his eyes tightly shut. “I would reach out with my magic. Feel the difference between them by seiðr. They grow differently: they’re different on the atomic level. The very structure of them differs.”

“And what about an old tree from a young tree?”

“Well, the structure is different, of course, but the— The _energy_ is different.”

“Go on,” the Grandmaster says, coaxingly. _Listen to Daddy_ : the words echo in Loki’s mind, running in his head like a half-remembered snatch of melody, and Loki exhales slowly.

“A young tree is inexperienced, new. It grows as fast as it can. An older tree is more temperate—”

“Hate that word.”

“More reserved,” Loki continues, resisting the urge to use the position they’re in to elbow the Grandmaster in the chest. “It holds the age it has carried with it. It isn’t a memory precisely, for that’s a word that implies a sentient, but the tree knows it is older, it has had past experiences. And subsequently, an older tree exudes a different energy to a sapling. When one walks in a very ancient forest, surrounded by their immortal energy, one feels like one is not alone. The very souls of the trees bear judgement.”

“A young tree doesn’t have a soul like that, then?”

“Certainly it _does_ , if soul it can be called, but the energy is not so matured, so distinct. It needs to develop over time.” Loki’s eyes open, and he stares down at the seed. “So I need to nurture the life, imagine its growth _as_ the passage of time?”

“More like _imagine_ you’re a tree. Better to draw on past experience.”

“I don’t have any experience of being a tree.”

“You don’t need to: they just stand in the sun all day and grow leaves. It’s easy.” Loki puts his two palms out, his thumbs touching, and he stares down at the shining, black Grappa seed where it sits in the sun, and he imagines he is a tree, imagines bearing fruit, imagines he stands upon a bed of grass with groundwater nourishing his roots, with sun upon his broad leaves…

The Grappa seed remains immobile.

“You’re a seed,” the Grandmaster whispers. “You _want_ to be a tree, so desperately, so desperately… Have you ever wanted something so badly you can taste it? So badly it fills your mouth like blood?”

“Yes,” Loki whispers, thinking of the throne of Asgard, left behind him. Thinks of the way his blood had boiled whenever Odin had favoured Thor over himself; thinks of the way he had been _mad_ when Thor had returned once more. “Of course.”

“Use that _want_ , feel it in every part of you, and just _punch_ out of the seed’s casing, use it as momentum—” The unfamiliar magic _burns_ as it leaves Loki’s body and coils its way through and around the Grappa seed, but as Loki concentrates, a shoot of deepest purple comes slowly from the hard blackness, bursting out from its shell.

When Loki finally stops, some minutes later, the shoot is scarcely a few inches long, and bears _one_ malformed leaf. Picking it up, Loki feels its miniscule weight in his palm, and his heart soars. He’s done it. He’s _done_ it.

“Beautiful,” the Grandmaster murmurs, in a tone that makes Loki’s skin feel electrified. “There you go, pretty boy. See, life is life – you need to draw on your own emotions, your own experience _of living_ , to get it across to the magic. You did great.” The praise settles on Loki’s skin like so many flakes of snow, and he bites his lip, worrying the sensitive skin beneath his teeth.

“About being married—” Loki begins, and the Grandmaster says nothing. Why should he say anything? Why should _Loki_ say anything? What, an Elder tells him the basics of a new charm, and Loki should lay out his secrets? In the scheme of the universe, marriage is nothing at all – particularly from one immortal to another. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Okay,” the Grandmaster assents, easily. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Let you, aha, _practise_. Planting the seed of knowledge and all that.” He doesn’t make a move to get out from under Loki; Loki doesn’t make a move to let him up. “One more round?”

“Just one,” Loki agrees, and he turns in the Grandmaster’s lap, catching his mouth in a kiss once again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Check out [my Tumblr](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com) for more, or if you want to send in a request.
> 
> I have many thoughts and feelings about this series, so there'll undoubtedly be way more ficlets and short pieces within it. <3 Totally feel free to let me know what you think in the comments, or to ask questions/message me on Tumblr.


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